Ruff Justice

by Laurien Berenson

  The address she gave me was in Darien, the town that bordered Stamford to the east. From Greenwich, it was just a quick hop up the Connecticut Turnpike.

  Sadie had asked about Faith when we’d met previously, so this time the Standard Poodle and I made the trip together straight from school. Sadie wasn’t the first person who’d preferred my dog to me—and considering the questions I was hoping she’d answer, I was willing to try anything to make our meeting proceed smoothly.

  Sadie lived in a wood-shingled cottage on a small plot of land not far from the Ox Ridge Hunt Club. A crumbling stone wall bordered the road in front of her heavily wooded property. There wasn’t room for both our vehicles in the driveway, so I parked the Volvo on the other side of the narrow road.

  As Faith and I crossed the front yard, I could hear birds singing all around us. A pair of robins swooped down across the driveway, heading for the rear of the house. I was betting there was a bird feeder back there. Possibly more than one.

  I had to knock twice before Sadie opened the door.

  Even though I had a smile on my face and Faith standing politely beside me, Sadie didn’t look happy to see us. Her gray hair was gathered in a messy bun on the top of her head and she was wearing a paint-smeared smock over blue jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt. A pair of reading glasses was perched on the end of her nose. They did nothing to hide the remnants of her nearly healed black eye.

  I frowned when I saw the slight discoloration still visible high on Sadie’s cheek. Somehow I’d forgotten about that.

  “I suppose you’d better come in,” she said.

  I hesitated on the step and Faith took her cue from me. Along with the bruise, I’d also forgotten about the reason for it—Jasmine’s two dogs whom Sadie had brought home with her on the day that Jasmine died.

  “Well?” Sadie prompted.

  “I can leave Faith in the car if that’s easier,” I said.

  “Why would that be any easier?” She reached down and gave Faith a pat.

  The Poodle wagged her tail obligingly. Making friends and winning hearts, that was Faith’s goal in life.

  “Jasmine’s dogs . . . you have them here, don’t you?”

  “Oh yeah, Toby and Hazel. They were here for a few days. But those two dogs were wild. Jasmine hadn’t taught them much and they were driving me crazy, barking and running around the place. So I found them another home.”

  “Already?” It was difficult enough to rehome mature dogs, much less poorly behaved ones. And two at once made it harder still. Accomplishing that so quickly was a neat trick—if indeed Sadie had managed it.

  “Sure. They were nice dogs. It was a piece of cake. Faith isn’t going to bark and go racing around, is she?”

  “No, of course not,” I said.

  “Then unless you want to hold this conversation standing on the stoop, you’d better get in here.”

  We walked straight into a small living room whose most notable feature was a large picture window in the rear wall. Through the glass I could see three cylindrical bird feeders hanging from a tree branch outside. Each feeder was filled with seed. Though it was early in the year and I hadn’t yet seen many birds at my house, all three feeders were doing a brisk business. Several robins and sparrows were perched on the trays, along with a striking male cardinal.

  “What a beautiful view you have,” I said.

  For the first time, Sadie smiled. “It’s great, isn’t it? I love my birds. They nest in the trees around the house. Some even stay with me all winter long. They know they can depend on me to take good care of them.”

  She waved me toward a lumpy-looking couch that was covered in a dark green polyester fabric. I took a seat. Once I was settled, Faith lay down at my feet.

  “You said you had news for me. You might as well spit it out.”

  “I’m afraid it’s bad news,” I told her. “Did you ever meet a man Jasmine knew named Alan Crandall?”

  “The name doesn’t sound familiar.” Sadie removed her reading glasses and set them on a nearby table. “Who’s he?”

  “Alan owns a business called Creature Comforts. He was one of Jasmine’s fellow concessionaires at the dog shows. When Jasmine died, her booth and the rest of her belongings needed to be cleared from the showground. Alan offered to help out. He took her things and stored them in his warehouse.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “Well, not entirely, as things turned out.”

  “Oh?” she asked with interest.

  “The reason I thought you might know him is because you and Jasmine were close, and she and Alan had recently had an affair.”

  “So? It sounds to me like they were both consenting adults.”

  “The problem was, there was also a nonconsenting party. Alan’s wife. Apparently she took great exception to their behavior.”

  Sadie sighed like she was hoping I’d move things along. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Jasmine broke up Alan’s marriage. And possibly cost him his business. Then she dumped him. So when he volunteered to take her things home from the dog show, his motives weren’t entirely altruistic.”

  “Don’t tell me he thinks he can hold those paintings for ransom,” Sadie said sharply.

  It was interesting the way her mind worked.

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that. He destroyed them.”

  “Destroyed them?” she echoed faintly. “All of them?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Totally destroyed?”

  “He built a bonfire.”

  “Hellfire and damnation,” Sadie swore. “That sounds like true love all right.”

  “True love?” I almost laughed. It sounded like the opposite to me.

  “Jasmine had a way of inspiring devotion in people. Sometimes more than she deserved.”

  “So I’ve discovered,” I said. “Are you aware that Jasmine was behind a series of recent home robberies?”

  Sadie’s gaze lifted. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I knew Jasmine had a head for funny business, but I had no idea it extended that far.”

  “What kind of funny business do you know about?” I asked casually.

  Sadie’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t fooled by the offhand nature of my question. “There’s no need to get into that now that Jasmine’s gone. I’m not one to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Did it have anything to do with Rick Fanelli?”

  “Rick who?”

  I ignored the evasion. Sadie knew who I was talking about. “Amanda’s boyfriend. He was around here a lot. I’m sure you must have known him.”

  “Oh, that guy,” she said dismissively. “I guess I saw him once or twice.”

  Faith nudged the side of my leg with her shoulder. She was probably telling me to get to the point. So I did.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to Jasmine’s artwork,” I told her. “But I’m sure you won’t have trouble replenishing your stock.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Those paintings were a huge loss.”

  “But you’re an artist too.” I looked pointedly at her smock.

  “This old thing? I just wear it to do housework,” Sadie said with a shrug. “It keeps my clothes clean. As for painting, I dabble a bit. But I don’t have anything like Jasmine’s talent.”

  “That’s not true,” I replied. “I saw the painting you did for Amanda. The one that’s hanging in her apartment? It’s wonderful.”

  “The little hounds? That one was a favorite of mine.” Sadie’s expression softened. “I wanted it to go somewhere it would be appreciated.”

  “I can understand why you’re proud of that painting,” I said. “Which is why I’m surprised you didn’t sign it.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No,” I said mildly. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh well. I guess I must have forgotten.”

  I gave us both a minute to ponder that implausible
lapse. Sadie had begun to fidget in her seat. I liked the fact that I was making her nervous.

  Finally I said, “I know what was going on, Sadie. All those paintings you were moving back and forth between your house and Jasmine’s, those were yours as well, weren’t they?”

  “No way.” She swiftly denied the allegation. “Where would you get a crazy idea like that?”

  “Mostly from the fact that in the last few weeks, I’ve talked to many of Jasmine’s friends and acquaintances. All of whom said that she was good at manipulating people. And that she wasn’t above using larceny to supplement her income. Once Amanda told me you were the one who’d painted the puppies, I realized that you were just another con that Jasmine had been running.”

  The words were insulting on purpose. I wanted to get a rise out of Sadie. Angry, she would be more likely to be indiscreet about what she knew.

  Just as I’d hoped, she scowled ferociously. “Now you listen here. I was never just another anything. Not to Jasmine. Not to anybody.”

  “No. You’re a very talented artist who let Jasmine take credit for your work. What I don’t understand is what was in it for you?”

  “Money, of course,” Sadie snapped. “What do you think?”

  To clarify, I said, “So all those beautiful paintings that Jasmine took to the shows, the artwork she was promoting and selling as her own, had actually been created by you?”

  Sadie nodded. Then sighed. Maybe it was a relief to finally have her contribution recognized.

  “Your artwork is gorgeous,” I said. “You must realize that. So why not claim it as your own? Why hide behind Jasmine?”

  “You don’t get it,” Sadie replied. “I wasn’t hiding anything. If that’s what you think, you’re missing the point. Look out there.”

  She gestured toward the picture window. We both gazed through the glass at the busy feeders. The cardinal had left. Now a blue jay had joined the group. It was busy asserting its right to eat first.

  “That’s my passion,” Sadie said. “Birds. All kinds, all colors. To me, they’re the most beautiful creatures on God’s green earth. If I could, I’d never paint anything else. But you know who wants to buy paintings of birds?”

  I hoped that was a rhetorical question. There were few subjects I knew less about than the market for avian art.

  “Nobody,” Sadie told me. “Leastwise nobody I know. But you slap a Cocker Spaniel on a canvas and people line up to pay good money for it. Especially if it’s their own dog. People just about go crazy for portraits of their pets.”

  I glanced down at Faith, who wagged her tail in acknowledgment. We couldn’t argue with that.

  “Jasmine was a middling artist but she had marketing down cold. Particularly when it came to selling herself. Take it from someone who knew, Jasmine was her own best product. Once she got the idea to set up a canine art booth at dog shows, there was no stopping her. Next thing I knew, she had a web site and a brochure. That woman could sell sand to a Bedouin.”

  Sadie looked over at me to make sure I was paying attention. “When Jasmine started taking commissions, she had more orders than she could fill. All I did was offer to help out. Then everything just kind of snowballed.” She stopped and grimaced. “Soon Jasmine was just a pretty face making sales in her booth. And I was behind the scenes doing all the work. Nobody cared where the paintings had come from as long as they were good.”

  “They’re more than just good,” I said. “They’re wonderful. Wasn’t it hard for you to watch someone else take credit?”

  “Of course it was hard. It was even worse to watch her smile and sign her name to a painting that I’d slaved over for days to get just right. As if she deserved that recognition for doing nothing more than bringing in a check. Sometimes I wanted to slap that stupid smile right off her face.”

  I should have seen that black eye as a red flag sooner, I realized. I should have been paying more attention. But now wasn’t the time for second-guessing. Sadie had finally started talking and I was all ears. The only thing I wanted her to do was keep going.

  “Once you saw how popular your portraits had become, why didn’t you end your arrangement with Jasmine?”

  “Because I’m an idiot, that’s why,” Sadie retorted. “Before the business took off, Jasmine had me sign a contract. It spelled out our responsibilities, and what each of us would make in return. We agreed to split the proceeds fifty-fifty. Later, when it became clear to me that my contribution to our success far outweighed hers, I told her I wanted to renegotiate the terms.”

  Jasmine Crane was one of the most avaricious people I’d ever met. I couldn’t imagine that would have gone over well. Sadie’s next words confirmed my suspicions.

  “She just laughed,” Sadie told me. “I guess I should have had a lawyer read the contract before I signed it. But Jasmine and I were friends and I trusted her. Do you know what a non-compete clause is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, this contract had one. It turned out I’d signed away the rights to my own name and to any paintings I created during the term of our agreement. In addition, I’d agreed not to start any artistic venture of my own that would compete with what Jasmine was doing.”

  The conversation was suddenly starting to sound a whole lot like a motive for murder. Abruptly I decided that I’d be more comfortable on my feet. Faith stood up too.

  Sadie gazed up at me and grinned. “No need to get your knickers in a twist. I can guess what you’re thinking, and believe me, when things came to a head, I was mad enough to contemplate mayhem. But that was over and done two years ago. Jasmine and I got things sorted out and found a way to make the partnership work.”

  “How?”

  My senses were still tingling, but my more rational side insisted that Sadie Foster made an unlikely threat. The woman was at least a decade older than I was and she looked significantly out of shape. Her clothing didn’t have any pockets, so unless she had a weapon hiding in the cushion of her chair—and it was hard to imagine why that would be the case—there didn’t seem to be a way she could pose a problem. And besides, I still wanted to hear what she had to say.

  “I told Jasmine I was through painting for unfair compensation so she could take her contract and shove it,” Sadie said with satisfaction. “And then I went on strike. There were eight commissions waiting at the time. Knowing Jasmine, she’d probably already collected that money and spent it. When I put my foot down, she had no choice but to listen to me.”

  “And did she?” I asked.

  “Eventually. It took a month for us to come to terms. Jasmine spent the entire time trying to placate disgruntled customers. She got more and more desperate for me to go back to work. It was great. I knew she’d have to cave in. In the end, we agreed to change the split to seventy-thirty in my favor.”

  “That was quite clever of you.”

  “I thought so.” Sadie rose to her feet opposite me. “I’m sorry to hear the news about what happened to those paintings. Losing that much hard work feels like a damn shame. Especially since—according to the terms of Jasmine’s will—most of them would have been returned to me. But I suppose it can’t be helped.”

  She strode across the small living room, heading in a direction away from the door. When I didn’t follow, Sadie stopped and looked back. “Are you coming?”

  “Where?”

  “Now that someone’s finally discovered my secret, I’d love to show off some of my stuff. I bet you have just as many connections in the dog show world as Jasmine did. And if I’m going to rebuild my business from the ground up, I’d sure like to have someone out there telling everyone how much they like my work.”

  Sadie began walking again. This time she didn’t bother waiting for me.

  I hesitated, then started after her. I walked slowly and lagged a few steps behind, making sure to leave some space between us.

  “That big Poodle of yours is very pretty. Have you ever thought of having her portrait painted? I could give
you a great deal on the price. You know, in exchange for you giving me some good PR at the shows?”

  Sadie opened the door to a small, sun-filled room and walked inside. Through the doorway I glimpsed an easel holding a partially finished canvas standing near a large window. A nearby table was littered with brushes and tubes of paint. “We could snap some photos of her while the two of you are here today. If you’re interested, I could get started on it right away.”

  I’d been keeping a careful eye on Sadie, but now I briefly looked away. When she mentioned Faith, I turned to make sure that the Poodle was still with us. It took me several seconds to register that Faith had remained in the middle of the living room. And that she was staring at me uneasily.

  Something was wrong.

  The shock when I was suddenly drenched with something cold and wet was both visceral and immediate. My nose wrinkled at the harsh chemical smell. My eyes squinted shut, then began to water.

  What the hell? I jumped back but it was already too late.

  The liquid was on my clothes and in my hair. Rivulets streamed down my shoulders and dripped onto the floor at my feet. My senses were overwhelmed by a corrosive stench.

  It took me a few seconds to identify the smell. When I did, I nearly gagged. Turpentine.

  It was a good thing I’d turned away just before Sadie threw the caustic liquid. Otherwise she would have hit me in the face. Which must have been her intent.

  A burst of anger shot through me. I whirled around to face her.

  Sadie cackled happily. “I took you for smarter than that. But luckily for me, you’re not.”

  Unfortunately I was in no position to dispute that opinion. And Sadie was already advancing on me.

  A scant five feet separated us. Quickly I began to back away. Another fifteen feet would get me to the door. I hoped Faith was moving too, but I couldn’t afford to take my eyes off Sadie to check.

  One hand dove into my pocket, reaching for my phone. It wasn’t there. I’d stashed it in my purse, still sitting on the couch.

  “It’s not too late to fix this,” I blurted.